


Boy

by jonessjughead



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint just wants to be himself, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Good Guy Tony Stark, I Wrote This Like A Year Ago, Oops, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans!Clint, also there is mention of bruce and clint smoking weed together, not so understanding foster parents, the avengers are chill af, understanding big brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:20:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3810163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonessjughead/pseuds/jonessjughead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clinton Francis Barton is a boy, thank you very much. There's nothing that says he isn't allowed to be a boy. Except when he's little, his foster parents insist that because he has 'the wrong parts', that isn't the case. Someone asked me to write trans!Clint and I couldn't say no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boy

**Author's Note:**

> **** this story includes misgendering until later on- apologies****

There’s a hellacious screaming that goes with bath time in the mornings. Francis Barton wriggles and kicks in foster parent’s grips; no matter what place they’ve been moved to, it’s the same. “Franny, honey, you have to wear your nice new school dress-!” Miss May tried to convince her, stuffing her into the cute cotton underwear with the matching undershirt. She screamed louder, kicked harder. “ _No! No I won’t! I won’t wear it!_ ” she screeched, wriggling until Miss May, practiced in her ways, managed to stuff her into the nice dress. She flopped onto the floor, kicking while May fitted her into her tights and Mary Janes, helping her up while she sniffled pitifully, scrubbing tears from her cheeks. “Now, Franny, what’s all the fuss about? I never have any trouble with you until it comes to clothes. You’re always such a good girl.” May said, handing her a tissue and brushing her hair. “But I’m not! I’m not a girl! I’m a boy!” she insisted. May didn’t say anything to that except, “let’s go eat breakfast.”

Upon entering the door after school Francis would immediately shuck her dress and tights, rummaging through the laundry until she could find a pair of pants to fit her, yanking a polo over her head. She played with the other children just fine, feeling better this way. “How come you’re always fighting on them dresses? They’re not so bad.” Darren said as she tugged on a pair of his flared pants. Francis huffed. “Because boys don’t wear dresses.” she answered huffily. Darren frowned. “You aren’t a boy, though. You’re a girl.” Francis glared. “I am too a boy!” she insisted. “No your not. You don’t got the parts us boys got, Franny.” he answered, as though it were the only thing in the world separating her from the life of a boy. Francis tried not to slap him, yanking a sock out of the laundry basket and stuffing it down the front of the pants she wore. “I do now.” she said huffily. “You think May’s gonna let you stay like that? You’re still a girl, Frann-ee.” he said, drawing out the name they all cooed at her, which only served in making her more irritated. “I’m not Franny, and I’m not a girl, either!” she snapped, running outside to play with the other boys. Barney paused when he noticed her new attire and new- ahem- parts, but said nothing. Nicholas, on the other hand, looked between the two in awe.

“What, you’re gonna let your little sister go stuff her pants like that?” he whispered, and Barney shrugged. “Kids do what they do.” he answered. “Francis likes being a boy.” Nicholas blinked at him a few times. “Ain’t no way she can be a boy. She’s a little girl.” Barney shook his head. “Francis feels happy, ain’t no harm in that.” Nicholas looked at Francis, digging up plugs of grass. “Hey, Francis, quit playing in the dirt like a tomboy, you know how May hates that. And leave the grass alone! Have a bare yard by the time you’re through with it.” He called. Barney glowered at him a little until Francis got to her feet, hands on her hips. “I ain’t no tomboy!” she called back, stalking towards them. She pointed at the sock bulge. “See that? I’m a boy just like you an’ Barne an’ Darren.” she insisted. Needless to say, when May saw what she did, she got a stern talking to and sent to her room. She didn’t even know what she did wrong, except May came in and told her it wasn’t very ladylike for little girls to put socks down their pants so they could be a boy. Girls weren’t boys and boys weren’t girls and that was that. Barney still called her a boy when they were in private, though, watched her swell in pride at that.

When Francis was ten, she hid in her room and didn’t come out. Barney finally got her to let him in and saw wads of bloody paper towel on the floor and a soaked pair of girl underwear in the trash can. The second Barney looked at her she started sobbing, holding another wad of paper towel between her legs. Barney ushered her to the bathroom, didn’t really know what to do. “Boys don’t bleed like this, Barne.” she managed to snivel out, while Barney rummaged through the cabinets until he found the sanitary napkins. Despite his disinterest in ever learning about the products girls used- and especially if Francis had to use them- he couldn’t just get one of the older girls. They’d make a fuss of pointing out that she was a girl even if she wanted to be a boy. “Baaaarne…” came the whiny whimper. “Hang on, alright? I gotta figure this stuff out.” the first thing he did after reading the directions was go out to the fresh laundry and snatch up a pair of Darren’s underwear, a dark pair that wouldn’t show anything. The frilly white cotton things were blindingly clean, and he wasn’t sure if blood on dark boy underwear or ruining a pair of the girl underwear they kept giving Francis might piss May off more. Not that May did get pissed. Francis sniffled and scrubbed at tears, pulled on the underwear without complaint, shifting a little. “It feels weird.” Barney shook his head, held up a hand. “Okay. Now, we got through the first time, little brother. I’m not doing this every time it happens. Now, you gotta change that when you go to the bathroom, okay?” Francis nodded silently. “Okay. C’mon, I’ll find you some of Darren’s pajama’s and you can go lay in bed. Sarah and Liz don’t feel like doing much either when they’re… y’know.” Francis peeked at Barney, clinging. “How come I gotta bleed too? I’m not a girl!” Barney held back a shudder at talking about this. “Because your body is a girl even though you’re a boy.” he answered simply.

When Francis started growing breasts, he refused to wear a bra. Not that carnies could go out and make bra runs, but one of the girls did show him a trick with some bandages that made him look as flat chested as he used to be. He stuffed a sock down his pants and pulled back his hair into a long ponytail. It took a few hours in front of the mirror, but when he finally found Barney, he’d snipped his long golden hair down into a messy boy cut that wasn’t quite even. Barney stares at him a minute, sits him down, and starts trimming it nicely. “So you gotta have a different name. Think of Francis and I just see a little boy they put in dresses.” there’s a minute of silence, until finally his little brother decided his name. “Clint.” he answered. “Like Eastwood.” Barney nodded, thinking it over. “How about Clinton? Still call you Clint, for short, just don’t wanna be total copycats.” Clint gave a noise of approval, not daring to move while Barney trimmed down his hair until he could run his fingers through it and make it stick up in spikes.

Clinton Francis Barton was a boy, thank you very much. He may not have had a dick, or stubble, but he also didn’t have breasts. And anyway, with a clean sock, he had a bulge. Barney worked out getting him clothes, none of the froo froo dresses or tights they wanted him to wear on occasion when they forgot he was a he. It was kind of easy, he still had the babyish face that was slowly going to grow feminine and confusing.

When Clint and Barney managed to find an apartment for cheap, Clint took breaks in his binding. Honestly, quite a few people just called him a dyke and moved on. Others hushed children’s natural curiosity to the girly man. Some people called him a tranny, some a he-she. It really stung when he was referred to as ‘it’. Barney just kept buying him bandages when he needed them and kept referring to him as ‘he’, ‘him’, or ‘little brother’.

He almost screams when he’s seventeen and he wakes up to a dick on the nightstand. “It’s just… you know.. so you don’t have to use a sock all the time.” he doesn’t know how much that shit costs, so he just says thank you and goes to the bathroom to shower and try it on under new jeans. For a minute, he stands in front of the mirror, looking at his new dick and his flat chest, remembering way back when with fancy dresses and lacy underwear. Barney doesn’t know how to react when Clint finally rushes out of the bathroom in some new old clothes from the thrift store and wraps his arms around him tight. He just feels Clint trembling with that relieved sort of crying he did when Barney sat him down and said he’d let him bind, let him stuff his pants and wear boy clothes and be himself.

He was nineteen when he got out of the shower, opening the door to grab clothes from his dresser and Phil was in his room, file in hand. There was a moment’s pause, of Clint realizing his breasts were unbound and his dick was laying by the bathroom sink. Phil stands, looking like he was either sorry or disgusted. Clint figured the latter as he grabbed a pot from the kitchenette in his room and heaved it in his direction. “Get the fuck out!” came the primal scream, before he retreated to the bathroom, shaking hard, eyeing himself in the mirror. There was a knock at the door, soft, gentle. “Get _out_ I said-! You didn’t see anything!” he shouts. He can hear Phil through the door. “I saw nothing, if that’s what you wish.” he answered. “You shut the fuck up.” he shoved the bathroom door open, dropped his towel. “Take a look at the tranny he-she, right? God, did Donaggen put you up to it? They been trying to catch me, see if I’m a freak dyke or something. I’m not! I’m a _boy_!” then came the frantic shouts from a childhood long since passed. “I’M A BOY!” he screams again, trembling hard until he met Coulson’s eyes, calm and relaxed despite Clint’s violent disposition. “I have no doubt that you’re a boy. You’ve signed off on all of your forms as ‘male’, and present and identify as such. Actually, I was here to go over healthcare benefits, Mister Barton. They’re very inclusive.”

 

_**Fourteen Years Later** _

Natasha already knew, sort of goes with the whole sleeping together sexually and innocently thing. Actually, she bought Clint a purple dick. For his birthday. And gave him briefs that he could actually stuff properly. Thor sort of figured but never said so, aside from his slender face and hands like a woman. After that, Clint glared and Thor never brought it up again. Steve figured from the start, didn't really mind. Bruce, of course, didn't say a word. They were smoking buddies and he didn't have anything against Barton, so that was that. Tony, on the other hand, between exhaustion and being buried in his tech, didn't notice things as quickly. It's when he shoved his way into Clint's room with a prototype for an arrow that he saw bare breasts and feminine curves. There's a fresh roll of bandages laying next to the clothes that were set out. Clint jerked awake as the last of, "Hey, Barton check th-" died from his lips. They look at each other, Clint sitting up, until he realized hello, boobs, and yanked the blankets up. "You mind?" He asked, glowering a little. "You have- wait. You- boobs?" He received the glare of his life. "Yeah. So?" Tony opened his mouth a few times, shook his head. "Barton, no. Hell no. This isn't right." Clint shrank a little, watching as Tony plucked up the roll of bandages. "This is so wrong. Don't you know how bad it is to bind with bandages? C'mon, get up. Wear your loosest clothes, and we're gonna find you a proper binder. Got it?" Clint nodded slowly, slipping out of bed. "And we're gonna get you a nice dick for your underwear. No way in hell am I gonna let Hawkeye stuff his underwear with socks. Unless you already have some for that?" Clint shook his head. "Alright. Come on, then. Jarvis, load a special account for this. Just call it Hawkeye. That way if there's anything you don't feel comfortable getting with me there, you can just use your account. Get what you need. You know, actually, there's a little Earth's Mightiest Heroes get together thing coming up and I'm pretty sure you've never seen a suit tailor in your life. We need to get you a good suit. Maybe two." Clint looked at him, and Tony saw it. The vague hint of a smile.

So worth getting the glare of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment, or prompt, or whatever. Seriously, I'm thirsty for prompts, and I will pretty much guarantee that any prompts involving Clint are A+. (he is my fave)


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